The Love Club
by Byzinha Lestrange
Summary: Two-shot of Stiles and Malia for the "popular/nerd kids au" and "childhood friends pretending to hate each other" requested on tumblr.
1. One-shot

**Author's note**: Hello you!

This was an one-shot that I posted on tumblr after I decided to do that au prompt challenge, you know? I wasn't going to post it in here, but I just got another request that can potentially be a sequel to this one, so I turned it into a two-shot.

It came from the "popular/nerd kids au" and I hope you guys like it! Part two will come fazeter than you think. ;)

Can you please leave your review at the end of the chapter? Thank you so much for reading! x

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><p>"<em>Be a part of the love club<em>  
><em>everything will glow for you.<em>  
><em>Go get punched for the love club.<em>"  
>Lorde - <em>The Love Club<em>

No one was happy when Mr. Yukimura told them to stay a bit longer after class, because he wanted to talk to them. It was exactly how he put it.

"Stiles, Malia. Please stay a bit because I need to talk to you."

He didn't even _ask_, he just announced it. So rude.

"You see, Ben-" Stiles started going to the front of the class, Malia still was putting her books in her backpack, but she lifted her head in time to see the disapproval in the teacher's face. The boy, however, didn't miss a beat. "I have a recital to rehearse in, like, three minutes so I really can't stay…"

"Sit down, Mr. Stilinski." Mr. Yukimura said with a firm tone and taken aback, Stiles did as he said, his backpack dropped by his feet. "That's exactly the problem."

The two teens looked confused and Malia got closer, leaned against the first chair. They waited.

"What's exactly the problem?" he asked and Mr. Yukimura looked at him very seriously.

"You're failing this class, Mr. Stilisnki, and there's a strict rule for extracurricular activities, I suppose you know it."

Malia looked at Stiles, who made a face.

"I'm not failing, I have a C minus."

"No." the teacher corrected him. "You have a D."

"_What_?"

"And you need to raise it to B minus."

"_**What**_?"

Malia cleared her throat, discretely raised her hand.

"What do I have to do with it?"

"Yeah, true, why is she here?" Stiles agreed, pointing at her. She tried her best not to roll her eyes.

"Because," the teacher turned to her. "you, on the other hand, have a really poor curriculum."

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

"What the hell does that mean?" she exclaimed, completely offended.

"It means that you need more extra activities; and you have a B in history, so the school has a proposal for you two."

Oh, they already knew what would be the proposal. And it dreaded them. Exchanging a look, they both felt a little colder.

"The answer is no." Stiles quickly answered, not even letting the teacher say one more word.

"Then you're out of the drama club. _And_" Mr. Yukimura added as soon as the boy started to shrug "out of the lacrosse team."

"You can't do that."

"Actually, they can." Malia reasoned and Stiles shot her a deadly look.

"Here's the deal," the teacher continued looking from one student to the other. "Malia helps you this semester with history _and_ biology" he empathized the 'and' making Malia swallow a sigh. "and you help Malia in the drama club."

"But I don't want to be on the drama club." The girl protested. "I don't want to be in _any_ club, that's why I signed to none!"

"Also any volunteering, any sport, anything. You'll have to try a little harder if you want to go far, Miss Tate."

"You see, I try the best I can." She continued on, but Mr. Yukimura cut her.

"We know you're a good writer, Malia. You can be really useful in the drama club and _you need to do more_."

"What if I don't?"

The teacher sighed.

"Next week, I want to see you two working as a team. We will know if this is not happening. You both are conscious that it's for the best."

"Uh, I never said I agreed." Stiles tried one more time.

"I don't think you really have an option."

"So this is a trap?" he eyed the teacher, arms crossed, but Mr. Yukimura was hard to bend. He turned to Malia instead.

"I'm counting on you, Malia – to help this smart mouth here and yourself. Think you can do that?"

"I can. Doesn't mean I want."

"Doesn't mean you have an option either." He finished and both teens sighed. "You can go now."

No one was happy when they left the class, leaving their history teacher behind. They walked miserably through Beacon Hills High School's corridors not saying a word until they reached the intersection of halls. To the right, the parking lot. To the left, the back of the auditorium.

Until now, Stiles and Malia avoided looking at each other. It's what they did since elementary school, when he became the joker, the guy who's not exactly popular, but still was the one everyone wanted to be around; when Malia realized her superiority and decided to live in her little cocoon, avoiding other human beings the best she could; when Lydia Martin's little clique pranked her and he laughed and joked about it.

But at that intersection, still being the guy everyone wanted around, still being the girl in her little cocoon, they looked at each other.

"Are you busy right now?" Stiles asked and Malia shrugged. She also still was superior in her own way.

"Not really." She answered.

"Wanna check out the drama rehearse to see what you're being forced to do for the next semester?"

And maybe because she was curious or angry or bored about that deal the school had made with them – or maybe because she spent half of her life forcing herself not to find him funny or attractive -; or maybe because she _really_ had nothing else to do, she nodded. And off they went to the auditorium.

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><p><strong>AN**: I'm waiting for your review and I see you soon! x


	2. Two-shot

**Author's note**: So it took longer than I expected to make this chapter happen. I'm sorry, guys, I had a bad writer's week. But hey! Here it is!

I must warn you that it turned out more angst than I expected, so be ready. I hope you like it and I want to thank you guys so much for the feedback I got with the first chapter!

And now for the final part:

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><p>It wasn't supposed to happen that way. She wasn't supposed to come to the drama club and totally steal his spot as the star. She wasn't supposed to go and sing and dance and make everyone fall in love with her. He was sure she never intended it, but that's how it turned out.<p>

You see, of course that would happen. Malia had piano, singing and ballet classes since she was three. She liked Tchaikovsky and AC/DC, she had her own little bubble and that was why they weren't friends anymore. They had different talents and it was safer to follow them separately. But now they were forced to spend their free time together talking about history and biology and as if it wasn't enough.

She.

Got.

His.

Spot.

Okay, not exactly _his_ spot, as he was the _male_ lead, but Goddammit, she now was the female lead! The fame, it got to her brain and she was _smiling_ and _enjoying_, it didn't fell like her at all!

It was at that exact moment, when Stiles was internally ranting over the drama teacher and his stupid decisions that Malia looked up, met his eyes. She put her chin up and eyed him defiantly before walking towards him.

"You don't seem to be very happy about it, Stiles." She said matter of factly and he bit the inside of his cheek swallowing any mean answer that could put him in detention. Mr. Gordon could be a lot of things, but tolerant with bickering was not one of them.

"Why, I'm thrilled!" he said, sounding very, very fake. "But I'm also confused. Weren't you supposed to stay in the writers' room or something?"

Malia eyed him from head to toe for one long moment. Too long, taking in which ways she could answer him without getting in trouble.

(in the back of her head, however, she was just trying to understand where everything went wrong with them) (and then she remembered that it was the prank. The prank Lydia Martin planted for her and the afterwards, when he laughed. And didn't help her.)

She didn't need to say anything, because the teacher answered for her.

"Oh, but she already did her job, the adaptation for Carmen was ready two weeks ago, Mr. Stilinski." Mr. Gordon said with excitement. "And I don't think someone will capture Carmen as beautifully as our own Malia right here; she already went through the character's mind after all!"

She nodded with a wild smile that was hard to see her pull.

"Also, I played this role for my ballet recital last year. I love her."

Stiles looked down at his sheet of lines, to the love and hate Don José feels for Carmen and the heaviness of the script, then looked back up at Malia, stepped so close to her he could feel her warmth.

"The role suits you." He said between teeth and her eyes got darker – if that was even possible.

"And so does yours." She spit back and before it could get ugly, she walked away.

…

It was a big deal, the BHHS Spring Recital, so the rehearses were very important, especially for those who were graduating. With only two months to the big night, however, the piece didn't seem to go forward, for Stiles and Malia had a hard time "finding chemistry" – as Mr. Gordon liked to say.

Sure it seemed, in a first moment, when they were put together in this, that they would set asides their differences and work as team with both the study lessons and the drama club, but the teachers couldn't be more wrong. They were dealing with six years of hate and hostility and _that_ was tough to beat.

"I hope you memorized the lines of act four, because that's what you're rehearsing today!" Mr. Gordon announced.

"What?" Isaac protested, letting his script fall. He was playing Escamillo. "But we didn't finished act three yet!"

"I know. I know." The teacher said, gesturing for him to calm down, and then he pointed at Malia. "You know your lines?"

"Yes, sir." She answered de pronto. He pointed at Stiles.

"Know your lines?"

"Yes." He said, almost bored. "I'm a memorization machine, baby!" the boy joked, but no one laughed this time. He was losing his swagger.

"Then we will start with the fight scene. But first, is everyone here? Everyone? Warming-up, everybody!"

They did know their lines, it was true. And they did rehearse the fight scene of the modern days version of Carmen Malia had adapted for the school recital. But what they didn't know was that the teacher had set that up in the hopes of them having some closure. Those kids were _impossible_ together and something had to be done. As a drama teacher, Mr. Gordon had his own methods.

"You can't leave me, we love each other!" Don José exclaimed, making Carmen step back carefully.

"No, we don't." she said certainly. "You bore me. I can't stand you."

"That's not true!"

"I love Escamillo."

"Shut up, you are a mad woman!"

Carmen stepped closer, looking right into Don José's eyes.

"And you are a mad man, José. You think the things you want are the things that are right but you are selfish and safe and boring!" she came closer one more step; he didn't move. "I hate you."

"You can't hate me."

"Why, of course I can! I feel it burning alive in my bones. I hate you for everything you did and everything you do. Because you think you're so special and funny and can talk your way out of anything. Guess, what? You can talk your way with this." Malia's voice dropped an octave; they were so close now that everyone in the room leaned forward in expectation. "I can, and I do hate you, José. And you'll have to live with that."

The room was silent. Stiles and Malia didn't break eye contact and no one talked, but there was supposed to be a line in there, after her words. José had to say something before he killed Carmen and Stiles knew that, but the line was lost in the back of his brain. It wasn't Carmen talking right there, it was Malia. He had heard those words many times in different ways, but she didn't hate him, did she? Could she? _He_ didn't hate her. He never could and she was looking at him with those dark, determined eyes of hers and goddammit if he could kiss her right there and then.

"I love you, Carmen." José finally said, before putting the gun from his belt and shooting her in the chest.

Malia and Stiles looked at each other, completely ignoring the praises from Mr. Gordon and his jabbering about how they were getting there. They didn't need his words, they already knew.

"Please, don't hate me." Stiles pleaded under his breath and Malia shook her head once.

"I don't."

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><p><strong>AN**: Please, leave a review? And thank you for reading! x


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